


A Different Path: An Alternate History

by S_Faith



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: What if things had gone just a little bit differently when Beverly and Jean-Luc first met?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this about half a lifetime ago (between 1995 and 1996; be gentle, please), and recently reread it to find that it didn't make me cringe (much). There is definitely some stuff I'd do differently now, none of it major stuff, so I'll count that as a win. The only edits I made were to fix long dashes, ellipses, and corrected a couple of typos. (I first wrote this as plain text, which (of course) lacks formatting.) I also inserted the years at the top of each scene during which the scene took place, to give a better sense of the passage of time. (24 years, if you're counting, which, by sheer coincidence, is about how old this story is.)
> 
> I am pretty sure I never posted this publicly back in the day—when most fanfic writers were not using aliases/pseudonyms, if you can believe it—but if you happen to recognize this from before, I'd greatly appreciate if you keep any personal info under your hat. 
> 
> Edit to add: I suppose there is a major character death, but it's one that's in the series. I'm not killing anyone off. Trigger warning for mention of suicide.
> 
> Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.

### 1.

_Stardate: 2347_

"There's someone I'd like you to meet."

She turned around and saw him, his profile aquiline against the fading sun. This barely-made acquaintance turned to face her with grey-blue eyes that were warmer than a summer sky, a sharply chiseled jaw, a strong chin. And that smile. Never before had there been a more affectionate invitation to friendship (or possibly more) than this smile. "Well. Hello," she managed in a neutral tone, smiling reservedly. She transferred her wrap from one arm to the other, then stuck her hand out for the traditional handshake. He instead took it as if it were fragile porcelain, and placed his lips to the back of it delicately.

Her two companions watched in awe as Beverly Howard blushed for the first time ever in their presence. She looked into this newcomer's eyes, studying their slate grey depths, almost becoming lost in them. He was an older man, that much she could tell from the gentle wrinkles that were starting to crease the skin around his eyes, to the laugh lines circling the corners of his mouth, to the receding hairline. She heard a voice in her head; a choir of angels, actually, accompanied by trumpets and strings, heralding the great love of her life, and his name was—

"Jean-Luc Picard."

Well, it wasn't the heavenly host, after all. Just the voice of her fiancé.

Jean-Luc spoke, sending her heart into somersaults with the lilting timbre and deep emotion that came forth from his lips. "And what do they call this vision of loveliness?" He wasn't just saying that to be clever. There was sincerity in his voice.

Jack Crusher punched his friend lightly on the upper arm. "Oh, come on Johnny-boy, take a wild guess."

Beverly straightened her posture (noticing she was as tall as he was, if not a smidgen taller), her breasts poking out a bit farther from beneath the folds of her silk blouse. Tossing her long wavy auburn tresses back behind her shoulders, she looked at him through her lashes, feeling strangely flirtatious. Whether deliberately or not, she said in a smoky voice, "Beverly Howard. It's a pleasure to meet you."

As soon as heard her name, he changed. That was the only word to describe it. His smile altered and he laughed uncomfortably. She realized the cause of it at once. She'd gone from being The Sultry Redhead with the glittering blue eyes, cheekbones to cut glass with, and a body to stop traffic, to being Jack's Fiancée. She wasn't sure she liked it.

"I've heard a lot about you, Beverly."

His tone was purely platonic, but the sound of her name rolling over his tongue sent chills up and down her spine. She really did love Jack, but this… _this_ was something altogether different. Like a connection of souls. At first sight.

Beverly willed herself to speak. "I wish I could say the same." She'd heard Jack mention the name before, along with some basic history on him, but she'd had a completely different mental image preconceived; certainly she hadn't pictured _him_.

Walker Keel, who'd been standing there the entire time in silent observation, said, "I'm surprised that the man finds time to talk to you about anything, let alone the mere existence of Picard and myself. Lord knows _I_ wouldn't be interested in conversation." He said it just to garner a laugh, which he got. But only from Jack.

Beverly Howard wanted to kill Walker Keel. Walker shrunk away, for her intentions were plainly obvious by the fire in her eyes.

"Perhaps we should find our table," said that magnificent voice. She calmed at once. Oh, that's right. The play. Beverly had completely forgotten about the show. Then it dawned on her. Walker and Jean-Luc were seeing the play as well. With them.

"Let's, then."

Fortunately, or, _un_ fortunately, Beverly ended up beside Jean-Luc Picard at their table, at this old-style dinner show. The performance was an interpretation of "A Midsummer Night's Dream", rewritten in modern Federation Standard by a couple of free-thinking individuals who called themselves Trills. She nibbled at her dinner and half-listened to the stage show, but what held her fascination was watching the man who sat beside her. The silvery-blue light of the stage cast shadows across the planes of his face, and infused the depths of his eyes with cool luminance. His gaze followed the actors on stage; his face lit up with laughter at the fun moments, and dropped at the more somber ones. She knew she was staring, but she couldn't help it. She was thankful that Jack and Walker's respective attentions were also held by the captivating performance.

Now he watched Puck and Oberon with intense regard. Jean-Luc Picard was a willful man, a powerful leader, someone destined for greatness. Hell, he was only in his early forties and had already been a captain for close to fifteen years. Reputedly a well-regarded diplomat too, he was career Starfleet, cast from the mold of so many fine officers before him. Something told her, though, that there was a softness beneath that hard shell, one that he didn't easily reveal to others. Perhaps it was her Nana Felisa's blood in her—it was something she just _knew_ when she was near him. She was sure that his kiss would be tender, loving, gentle, reverent; that his touch would flit carefully across her skin in waves of caresses, sending each nerve ending into a frenzy. Never once would he push the boundaries of comfort or force himself somewhere he wasn't welcome.

The worst of it all was that she wanted to find out if her suspicions were correct. _Right now_. It was all she could do to keep her hand from straying onto his knee, to touch him to make sure the sight of him wasn't just her imagination playing tricks on her.

As applause built around her, she realized that the first act had ended. Like an automaton she began applauding with great vigor, forcing her eyes at last to the stage, where it faded to black as the house lights came up. She looked back to her table; the men were all still transfixed. Walker even had tears in his eyes. "Oh, marvelous. Simply marvelous," he whispered.

"What do you think so far?" that dark chocolate voice asked. She turned back to look at him, knew the question was intended for her. While Beverly knew the ancient play inside and out, she quickly decided to keep her comments noncommittal and vague. She didn't want to be asked about a specific line or moment from this performance so far that she wouldn't be able to recall, since she really hadn't been watching it.

"Impressive." Her smile was deliberately slow and full.

He was simply cordial and muttered a 'hm' as he touched his napkin to the corners of his mouth. He looked back to her, and, in a moment before a smirk touched his lips, she could see a fire stoking in those cool grey eyes…

Beverly excused herself to go and use the ladies' room. She had to get away and clear her head, get away from the intoxicating aura that surrounded Jean-Luc Picard.

The washroom at the theater was opulent and yet still cozy; Beverly found herself in front of a mirror inspecting her makeup. She looked just fine; in fact, she looked more radiant than she had a long time. She reached into her handbag and took her hairbrush out, then proceeded to pull it slowly and repeatedly through her waist-length copper locks, simply to soothe herself. It even worked for a few moments, until she realized that the action made her hair even silkier and more luminous; she wondered if her Nana's time-honored calming trick was such a bright idea, after all. 

Turning away from the mirror, but not yet wanting to go back to her table, Beverly took a seat on the settee, lying back and taking deep, controlled breaths, closing her eyes, focusing her thoughts, centering herself. She heard a woman's voice nearby; the attendant in the bathroom asked her if she was all right. Beverly nodded but wasn't sure if she _was_ entirely all right. _Something_ had gotten into her system.

The flashing lights indicated two minutes until the next act would begin. No sense in delaying the inevitable any further.

During the second act, Beverly made a concerted effort to actually watch the play. It was indeed one of the best performances she'd ever watched, contained some of the best staging and direction she'd ever seen for this play. She couldn't help but feel, though, that Jean-Luc's eyes were upon her this round, and each time she threw a fleeting glance towards him, it was as if he looked quickly away. She smirked, wondering what he was thinking about when he looked at her. Were his thoughts like the ones she'd had while watching him?

Before she knew it, Puck was delivering his parting words to the 'sleeping' audience, and she felt a chill race up and down her spine. Now what? Applause swelled around her and her table stood in ovation. Walker was practically bawling, and he surreptitiously wiped his face dry as his companions turned back to him.

"I've never seen it done quite so well before," Walker managed.

"I was not disappointed," said Jean-Luc to Jack, though he looked directly at Beverly. It was probably meant in a completely innocent manner; why did everything sound like a double-entendre to her? She figuratively shook herself and smiled to him.

"Nor was I." Oh, Sweet Lady, now _she_ was doing it!

"Seems like you _were_ disappointed in your pasta, though," came Jack's voice jokingly from the corner of her consciousness.

She realized she had barely touched her penne.

"Not exactly… the pesto was just a bit too strong for me." Her stomach rumbled as if to protest the fact that it had been ignored, as they stepped away from their table to leave the theater. As she circled her tartan wrap around her shoulders, she continued, "I'll whip up a bite to eat back at my place. Don't worry about me."

Jean-Luc stepped forward, touching her arm lightly. "Don't be ridiculous. I suggested the penne; let me make it up to you."

Warning bells went off in Beverly's head, but she ignored them. "Jack? Walker? Do you mind?" Did she half-wish they would discourage her?

They shook their heads. Walker muttered something about an early day the next day and needing to turn in, and Jack agreed, adding with a chuckle, "Hell, if I can't trust my girlfriend to my best friend, who can I trust her to?" 

Beverly's heart sank into her modest pumps. Here she was having all sorts of lascivious thoughts about Jean-Luc Picard, and Jack had no clue whatsoever. Jack leaned in to kiss her briefly on the mouth with promises of calling her the next day, and with that, he and Walker sauntered away, turning to wave once or twice.

Once they were out of view, she had no further excuse to keep her back to this powerfully magnetic man, so she turned to look at him. "All right then, Jean-Luc," she began. Oddly enough, using his first name made her feel uncomfortable and inappropriately so, considering she'd just contemplated what it might be like to have him making love to her. "Where shall we go, then?"

"There's a marvelous little place on the marina. I never can resist a view of the bay. What do you say?"

She nodded, not really caring where she ended up with him, as long as she could sit across a table from him, draw him into conversation, find out more about him, any little excuse to engage his eyes and watch his every move.

At first glance of him, Beverly had thought she'd got a glimmer of something more at their first look, but then he'd been cool ever since realizing exactly who she was. Now she had to wonder what his feelings were towards her, after all, as they entered this bayside restaurant.

Obviously this place was intended as a romantic hideaway, lit by gas- and candlelight, deep intonations of the cello drifting through the air, the relative quiet telling of the countless conversations being held without words. The atmosphere was discreet and dignified, and still, practically bursting with passion. She had to know why he'd chosen a place like this one. "This a favourite place of yours?"

He smiled; almost ruefully, she thought. "I used to bring my dates here, back in my Academy days. It feels a bit strange coming here now… but the view really is unsurpassed, and the food is like none other." He turned away from her, towards the giant picture windows, folding his hands behind his back.

An odd tinge of sadness swept across her. Why was he so obviously lonely? Before the thought had completed, she knew. Starfleet. Her heart wept for him. She reached out her hand and touched his arm, in an effort to share some consolation. The touch soon surpassed one of merely friendly concern, though, and she threaded her arm through his. His eyes returned from their wandering and met hers questioningly. Did he feel the electricity as much as she did?

"Sir, miss, your table is ready."

His attention darted to the restaurant hostess, and he disentangled her arm from his. "Perfect." He stepped away from her, holding out his hand to let her precede him.

They sat in a darkened corner, next to the broad expanse of window, offering a panoramic view of the San Francisco Bay. She noticed that he was gentleman enough to take her wrap from her shoulders. They ordered dinner and drinks, then both spent many introspective minutes gazing out into the night, over to the Alcatraz Animal Preserve, clear to the hills of Sausalito. Beverly turned to look at him, the glow of the candle uplighting his face as he continued to look across the water. As if he suddenly realized that the touch of her gaze was what danced upon his skin, he turned back to her, and their eyes met. He smiled more than just the smile of a platonic friend.

"I'm so very glad to finally meet you, Beverly."

She returned the smile fully and equally. "You're nothing like I imagined at all."

"Oh?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

What was she supposed to make of that? She elaborated: "The way Jack speaks of you, I don't know… I didn't imagine… _you_."

At the mention of her fiancé's name, the sparkle vacated his eyes. She regretted saying it. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" He took a moment to scan the room on a sudden inspiration, which irritated her. It was as if he was looking to see if anyone had noticed he was here with her, as if he was embarrassed to be there with her.

She shrank back from the closeness she'd perceived. "A good thing. Not that he ever speaks ill of you, but… well, you know how a mental image can persist."

He took his glass of burgundy and swirled it around the bottom of the glass, studying the ruby depths. "Yes. I do." He smiled again as he looked to her once more, but this time, the smile was forced, and his eyes were dead cold.

"Jean-Luc—"

Just then the waiter brought their dinner, teriyaki steaks, and made to refill both of their glasses of wine, engaging her dinner companion in casual small talk. The innocent interruption ruined the moment. Beverly was not one to beat around the bush, but now, she couldn't ask what he meant by that. The natural flow of conversation had been disturbed and he'd be uncomfortable if she tried to revive it.

She cut into her meal and brought it to her mouth, forkful by forkful. Glancing up, she watched him wrap his mouth around a bite. He met her eyes, and after he swallowed, he spoke again. "Born and raised on Luna. Red hair, blue eyes, winning smile. A hard working, dedicated medical student. Loyal to your friends, but you manage to never compromise your standards. A short fuse on your temper. And a stubborn streak a mile wide."

Her heart raced. _He_ was picking up the thread of the conversation again. "Jack said that about me?" she queried, her eyes wide with her astonishment.

When he spoke he looked like he was jumping into the proverbial pot of hot water. "Not in so many words."

She couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't worry. He's right." She paused to load her fork with food again. "Let's see, what has Jack told me about you? Captain at 28. A brilliant tactician. Quite the diplomat. You don't let emotions sway your command. You're pretty by-the-book as a leader, yet you know the rules can be bent to allow for circumstance—you're merciful."

"'Merciful'?" he interrupted, smiling again. And it was genuine.

"Jack's word, not mine." She grinned back. "Brought up in France… a vintner's son, if I'm not mistaken. Dry sense of humour, when you let it surface. You know how to balance your professional relationships with your personal ones. You're well respected by them, yet still a good friend. Walker and Jack, that is."

"And hopefully a friend to you as well."

She raised her glass of wine to his in a toast. "I'll drink to that."

Beverly watched the deep-hued liquid roll over his lips, and she envied the wine's entry into his sensual mouth. Every word, every action attracted her even more to him… adding to that the wine's cooling of her inhibitions, the candlelight sending amber tones over his features… . Ah. She wanted him more than anything, damn the consequences.

"Beverly, are you all right?"

"Hm?" she replied blearily. Her attention snapped back to focus on him from her daydream; there was real worry in his eyes.

"You look unwell."

"Uh… actually, I do feel a little lightheaded." She looked down at her hands to avoid looking at him. She wasn't a good liar, but then again, she wasn't exactly lying.

"Why don't I take you home, then."

She thought for certain that nearby tables would turn to look at her for hearing the pounding of her heart. "That's very kind of you."

"Where do you live?"

"In an apartment near the Academy. We could probably walk there from here."

"Oh no," he scolded. "You're a medical student; you should know better. If you're coming down with something, walking in the cool night air is not going to help you. We'll take a cab." He turned and called the waiter over, paid for the meal, and, draping her shoulders with her tartan, helped her to the door. Beverly probably didn't need his arm about her waist for support, but she didn't mind in the least.

Indeed, she probably did feel feverish, but it had nothing to do with any physical malady.

The cab ride was warm and close. She shut her eyes and leaned into him, his warmth and presence swallowing her, enveloping her. She wondered if he had any idea of what she was feeling, and if he did, would he take it seriously? Would it be nothing to him but a girlish crush? She'd been infatuated before; this was so much more than that. Already she admired, respected, and cared for him, and she was so attracted to him she would have taken him in the cab, given the opportunity. As his arm tightened about her shoulders, she wondered if she was crazy to be feeling the way she felt.

They arrived at Beverly's building; he helped her into her place just as the rain began to fall. The wine had begun to fade from her system, and some of the reservations were beginning to return. What about Jack? Gods, she didn't want to hurt him. He was a good man, and she did love him. But this… oh, this would never work. She had no right to rock the boat this way.

Ignoring her feelings, though, could do nothing but backfire on her in the long run. So she marries Jack… and then what? She spends the rest of her life wondering about what never was, eventually driving her to be a bitter, angry woman, blaming Jack for her many unhappinesses?

Blast and damnation.

As he opened the door and stepped into the apartment, she turned on the lamp by the door, which immediately illuminated Jack's face in a picture frame beside it, as if to punctuate her doubts. Unseen by him, she slipped her wrap off and nonchalantly draped it over that smiling face. "Thank you, Jean-Luc. I'm feeling much better now."

"My pleasure." He had his hand on the doorknob, as if to leave.

"Don't go yet." She hoped it didn't sound too panicked. In what she hoped was a more relaxed tone, she finished, "Stay for a nightcap. I don't have any classes tomorrow."

His fingers released the knob. "If you insist."

She walked to the replicator and ordered two mulled ciders; the steam licked up from them deliciously. "My Nana's recipe. I hope you like it."

He sipped at it tentatively. "Very good. Sweet and warm." He took another, longer draw. "Is that honey I taste?"

She nodded. "Please, sit and enjoy." She indicated the couch and he settled into it quite comfortably. Raindrops began to rhythmically drum on the windows as the rainstorm intensified. She took a seat beside him, though at a respectable distance; she didn't want him to tense back into Jack's-best-friend mode. 

"Are you sure you're feeling better?"

"Much. Thank you."

"Glad to hear it. Wouldn't want to return damaged goods to Jack."

Why did he have to keep mentioning Jack? She wanted to scream. She absolutely _had_ to change the subject, and she all but blurted out the one thing that had been on her mind most of the night. "What did you think of me before tonight?"

Did she hear him cough on his cider? "What do you mean?"

"I know what Jack told you about me, but am I different than you thought?"

He appeared to relax again. "Quite. I never knew you were so—"

"Never knew I was so what?" she prompted, her lip curling up in a smile.

"I'm rather embarrassed by this so I hope you don't take it the wrong way." He actually flushed pink, and hid an flustered smile behind a hand before continuing. "That said, nothing against Jack, and nothing against you, certainly… but I wasn't expecting you to be quite so… lovely." Her eyebrows shot up in an amused surprise, but she smiled reassuringly. He relaxed as he finished his thought. "I had rather an image of a freckle-faced kid… something more like Pippi Longstocking than Greta Garbo."

As she laughed softly, surprised yet impressed that he knew who Ms. Garbo even was, he looked even more at ease. She spoke. "I'm nothing but flattered. I should think that a man of your many experiences would be jaded to every attractive young woman that crossed his path."

"Usually, yes. Jack's very lucky. You're quite special."

Her annoyance was blatantly obvious this time and his face became a question mark. She sighed. "I'm tired of being considered little more than some accessory of Jack Crusher's."

He nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so thoughtless."

She smiled, forgiving his transgression. "I'm sure you didn't. It's all right."

"But it's _not_ all right." He looked deeply distressed, and extremely vulnerable, which made him even sexier in her eyes. "I know you're with Jack, but I should know better than to treat anyone like I just did. Especially someone like you."

Her heart was doing gymnastics inside of her ribcage; it was either now or never. She knew she wanted him, and this was her chance. Act on it now, she told herself, or never know what his touch feels like. She asked in a somewhat timid voice, "What if I _wasn't_ with Jack?", not relinquishing her hold on his gaze.

His expression defined the old saying 'thrown for a loop', and his voice took on a papery texture when he spoke again. "Beverly, what do you mean?"

Beverly had not misread him during the course of the evening; so why was he asking? How could he possibly be surprised? She reached out a trembling hand and placed it on his leg, then inched closer to him, clarifying her intent. "What would you do if I kissed you?" His spine stiffened; she placed her other hand on his cheek. "From the moment I saw you, I've wanted to kiss you." Her hand moved from his face to settle on his shoulder, her eyes searching his, her breath coming to her roughly now.

He looked as if he'd just been asked to plunge a knife between Jack's shoulder blades, but also made no move to get away from her. They sat there for many silent moments, her palm hot against his leg, their eyes dancing across the distance between them, the rain singing on the windowpanes.

"What about Jack." It was a statement, not a question.

She did not know what to say exactly, so she brought her lips close to him and brushed them against his cheek. Tiny bolts of electricity leapt up to meet her. "What about _you_ ," she whispered, not really a question either, her steamy breath rolling across his face.

She felt his broad hand on her upper arm, and for a split second she thought he would force her away. But he didn't. Instead he turned his head to meet her, his lips hot, slippery, and sweet against her own. Hungrily he kissed her, passion escalating with each caress on her mouth. It felt as if the herculean restraint he had been exercising all evening had finally given way.

"Beverly," he moaned as his lips broke from hers. She pulled away to look at him, ready to answer the questions in his eyes.

"All I know is that I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you… Jack included. I can't fight this. I don't want to."

He looked at her as if he were asking, was this real? A smile assured him that it was, as he crushed her to him with his kiss. He hadn't said much, but he didn't need to speak to show his feelings; his wanton desire was evident in every movement, as he teased and tasted her lips and mouth, his hands eager to touch every square of skin, slipping his hands beneath the billowing silk folds of her shirt, fingers racing across her smooth, bare back. Responsive and ardent were her own kisses, impatient were her own hands, roaming over his broad back and chest. 

He pulled back with some difficulty and spoke brokenly, "Your bed. Where's your bed."

She quietly memorized the look on his face, touching its chiseled planes once again, before she extricated herself from his lap, teasing him with a quick kiss to his flushed cheek. Beverly made her way towards her bedroom, but lingered at the door, watching the decision cast clouds over his features as he sat staring at the place she'd been, before she made a turn into the room. Beverly sighed, not exactly confident about any of this. She wasn't one to make rash decisions or to be so impulsive in matters like this, and a little angst-ridden voice inside her kept creeping up to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. But who was she to not listen to her body, when it was crying like this to be heard?

Seating itself alongside _that_ doubt was the fact that she didn't have half the experience with men as he did with women. She was no virgin, and she knew her way around the male body well enough, but she was nearly half his age. How could she ever please him, or compare to the women he'd loved in his life?

It seemed too much time had passed; she thought for sure that he had gone. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror, suddenly feeling very foolish. "I can't very well go out there and get him," she muttered to herself.

And then movement in the mirror caught her eye.

From the suddenness of feeling his fingers brush her hair from her neck and then feeling his lips there, she knew at once that he had not gone, after all, and she sighed in pleasure. One of his arms came across her neck and shoulders; the other, around her waist with only the silk between them. She thought it again, that he had not gone. She was euphoric, at the very least, that he had not run in terror from her place to Jack's with a million questions, and at the very most, that he was about to make love with her as she'd fantasized all evening.

He whispered into her ear, "May I?"

She sighed her assent, closing her eyes and resting her head against him, as he took down the buttons of her blouse one by one, nuzzling into her neck. Once the shirt was in a puddle at her feet, he ran his fingers lightly over the bare skin of her arms, shoulders, chest, before embracing her as before. Sighing again, she opened her eyes and noticed that he was intently looking at their image in the mirror. Intently staring at _her_. 

"You're even more beautiful than I could have dreamed possible, especially like this," he said quietly into her ear, holding fast her reflection's gaze. He then turned her towards him, his hands gentle and guiding. Raising his hands up, he threaded his fingers into her fiery mane of hair just at the temples, then slowly combed down the length of it, nuzzling his face into the downy hair near her cheek, to settle both hands on the small of her back. He remained like that, just taking in her scent, before he placed a kiss there. Quietly into her ear he said, his voice full of wonder, "I've wanted to do so much more than kiss you when I saw you tonight. But I didn't think you'd give me a second look because of Jack." He wrapped one arm around her waist; his other hand traced a trail up her spine to settle at the base of her neck. He kissed her again just beside her cheekbone, his tongue flicking out to taste the skin there, causing her to make a soft sound. Pulling away just far enough to see her, he finished hoarsely, "I want you, too."

He then began to kiss her again, this time her more deeply than she had ever been, holding her, caressing her more exquisitely than ever in her life. He sure did know what felt good, what made her feel like the only woman in the world. She undid the button at his neck, then the next, before sliding his shirt down over his shoulders. She heard him laugh low in his throat.

"You didn't need to tear it."

She hadn't realized she'd done that, and she touched her nose to his with a smile, before tilting her head slightly and placing her mouth over his, running her tongue along his lower lip, before kissing him fiercely.

That was when she lost track of reality, where one minute began to blur into the next; she was lost irretrievably in ecstasy. Jean-Luc Picard was as gentle and giving as a lover as he was logical and emotionless as a captain. Each time he touched her was pure magic and as a result she found herself responding in ways she never had before—and probably more vocally than she ever had before. No one had ever made her feel so uniquely deserving of such pleasure; none had made her feel so uninhibited and free. They were like pieces of a long separated puzzle; she had never felt so complete, or so intensely revered.

It seemed to have lasted forever, but she knew that a night on Earth was all too short, and she was, after all, only a mortal woman. Feeling sleepy yet satiated, Beverly nestled her face into his neck, reveling in his scent, tasting his saltiness with languid, open mouthed kisses, her hair splayed about him like tongues of fire. Beverly didn't remember dozing off, least of all while splayed upon him; she must have, because simultaneously the sun cast a ribbon of light across her face, and her personal monitor began chirping, waking her. Good lord, morning already?

Morning. Jack's call.

She leapt from the bed on weak and unsure legs, reached for her robe, and ran for her desk in the other room.

"Yes?" she asked breathlessly.

It was indeed Jack. "Hello, sweetheart. Sleep well?"

"Well enough. How are you?"

He shrugged, looking terribly boyish. "All right… I seem to have misplaced my best friend, though. Did he give you any idea where he might have been heading after your dinner last night?"

Jean-Luc was hovering at the bedroom door, far out of the monitor's range. He'd taken a moment to slip his pants back on, and was pinching the corners of his eyes between his forefinger and thumb.

"I don't think he really knew where he was going to end up." Well, it wasn't entirely a lie. Despite whatever fantasies he'd had the night before, this tryst probably had taken him quite by surprise.

Jack pondered innocently. "All right. He must have headed for Starfleet Headquarters already. I'll catch up with him. Love you, and talk to you later."

She raised her hand and waved to him as he blinked away. And she turned to meet eyes with her lover.

What kind of delusion had she been under last night, thinking this would be easy? Gods, he stood there looking glorious; her desire began building all over again. For so many reasons, last night had been a terrible mistake. It didn't mean she regretted a minute of it.

He looked like he did though, and that troubled her.

"Good morning, Jean-Luc."

He silently regarded her for many moments. "Beverly," he said at last, nothing more than a clipped acknowledgment of her presence.  Now he wordlessly passed by her to retrieve his shirt, inspecting the tear in the fabric.

The tension was heavy in the air. If she didn't say something, she'd burst, but she didn't know what she should say. She folded her arms across her chest, then unfolded them. Maybe she'd start with an inane question and work her way up.

"Want some coffee?" she decided on, at last.

"What are we going to do, Beverly?" he asked almost at the same time. She felt foolish for having asked the question she did.

"I don't know," she replied plainly. "All I know is that I don't want last night to be the only night we have."

"How can you face Jack after this? How can _I_?"

"I will have to be honest with him. There's no way I can marry him; I will have to break off our engagement."

His eyes registered surprise, but he was quick to quash it. "That will destroy him, you know. You mean the world to him."

She turned to her replicator. He hadn't answered her about the coffee but she ordered two cups anyway. She placed one on the counter top for him to take.

"I know it will… but do you think my marrying him when I have doubts will solve everything? I can't live that kind of lie."

He turned away from her with the coffee snug in his hands, not even taking a drink. "How can I face him?" he asked again. "I have destroyed our trust." He slammed the cup down and walked away from her, heading into her living room.

She knew he was trying to make her say she was sorry for last night. There was no way in the world she could do that. She wasn't sorry, she couldn't be sorry! She didn't delude herself; telling Jack would be the most difficult thing in the universe for her to do. But even now she found her hunger for Jean-Luc hard to ignore. "What happened last night was meant to be from the moment we saw one another. I felt it; you felt it. We will find a way." She followed him.

He turned around to speak to her. She never expected what she heard next.

"Beverly, I am a Starfleet captain. It would be improper for me to have an affair with a medical student who is engaged to one of my finest officers."

Keeping her jaw from hitting the floor, she retorted, "It's a little late for that line of reasoning, don't you think?"

"Last night was a terrible mistake. I should have resisted."

Her legendary temper was surfacing, and she didn't do much to rein it in. "All right," she steamed, "we have determined that _perhaps_ last night was a mistake. Does that invalidate how you feel about me?"

His voice was cool, but his eyes were pure fire. "You're a medical student, not a mind reader. How on earth can you possibly know how I feel about you?"

"So you lied to me last night?" she asked, incredulously. "Do you often lie to get young women into bed?" She knew her words would sting, but she hoped the sting would get some kind of an honest response from him.

He looked surprised, and a little hurt. "Certainly not. I think you are reading a lot more into what I said than I intended."

"Ah. You merely _misled_ me to get me into bed." She didn't believe it for a second. She was a pretty good reader, not of minds, but of human nature. His actions spoke more to her than anything he could have said. This kind of denial irked her to no end. "Is that the M.O. of Starfleet captains?"

He sighed, folding his arms. Classic 'back off' posture. "Beverly, you're being ridiculous."

She laughed lightly. " _I_ am being ridiculous? You are the one seriously rationalizing your actions last night." She looked down to quiet her temper, took a few steps towards him, so that she was within arm's reach of him, then raised her head again. When she spoke, her voice had softened to tenderness, and the anger had left her eyes. "When I first saw you, I felt much more than physical attraction. I actually believe it was love at first sight." She thought she saw a spark in his eyes, but he quashed that, too.

He knit his brows together, his arms remaining firmly across his chest. "What are you saying? That you think you love me?"

She nodded. "I'm sure of it."

He laughed heartlessly.

"Sure. Like you 'love' Jack."

Beverly stared at him mutely, disbelieving he could be this cruel. She felt tears welling in the corners of her eyes and quickly turned away but it was too late. He had seen them. "Please leave now," she managed, staring out of the window to the panorama of San Francisco. "Apparently I was foolish to think what I did."

The soft closing of the door some minutes later told her that he did leave. Beverly buried her face in her hands and wept with long, rocking sobs.

Perhaps he was being honest, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

### 2.

_Stardate: 2354_

"It was good of you to come."

"It was the least I could do."

They stopped in their journey down the long corridor, just before the doors to the morgue, and it was there that she finally met the eyes of a man she hadn't seen in at least seven years. He looked like he'd aged decades in that time, or perhaps it was this sad situation that made him look so ragged. His hairline had receded ever so slightly, the planes in his face had become that much more distinct. Indeed, he was more handsome than she remembered, but today, his eyes were colder than ever, and she felt that chill down to the core of her soul.

In silence he pushed open the door and gestured for her to precede him, which she did. The morgue. She was just beginning her second year as a medical intern, and still, this room of death always gave her bad vibrations. Today she felt them more than ever. She hardly believed what he had told her could be true, but, now, here she was. Faced with the reality, how could it not be?

"This way."

It felt a little bit strange for her to be led around like this, but then again, it had been a long time since she had been in the basement for reasons other than professional. Her heart fluttered against the iron wall she'd constructed around herself.

He pulled back the sheet to reveal the body on the table. Jack Crusher. There he was, his serene features locked in contentment, his pallor blue and waxy. So it was true; Jack was dead. She almost could not speak, and her hands quivered as she reached to touch the curve of his cheek.

"What happened." She lacked the voice or the will to ask it; rather, it came from her mouth passively.

"I am going to be frank, Beverly." His eyes seemed that much more haunted as he spoke of the demise of his best friend. "It was suicide. Poison."

Beverly actually felt the blood rush to her feet. Dammit, dammit, _damn it_ , it pained her to hear this, but she sure as hell was not going to feel responsible for this. Logically, she knew she wasn't. Emotionally… well, that was an entirely different story.

On the day she went to Jack with the news that she no longer felt she could marry him, he had merely smiled and put his arm around her, accusing her of joking. At her still-somber look, he'd pulled back and asked her if she was serious. All she could do was nod. "I see," had been his only reply. He never asked why, never asked for an explanation for what must have been the single most baffling occurrence in his life: the woman he loved and adored suddenly rejected him for no obvious reason. They'd continued their walk through Ghirardelli Square, stopping for lunch at the mermaid fountain, and had parted amicably with a light kiss on the cheek. The ship had departed for space that next morning; she'd even shown up to see him off. Through the next few years, they had even kept up a correspondence across the light-years.

Not once had she spoken to, or about, Jean-Luc Picard.

Suddenly, the letters stopped. They had begun to decline in their regularity, anyway, but it was about two months prior to the tragic day that she realized she hadn't gotten anything in at least four months. She sent him a note asking him if everything was all right, and the curt reply of "Yes, everything's fine" told her that indeed, everything was not fine. There wasn't much more she could do from her assignment on Delos IV, so she merely hoped that he would eventually be able to tell her.

Looking down upon his cold, lifeless form, she knew now that she had been wrong to merely hope.

"How could this have happened?" She didn't realize that the tears had begun to well in her eyes, until she turned her head to feel the wetness overflow onto her cheeks. She wiped them away so she could focus on Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc took many moments to reply, his eyes fixed on Jack with intensity. "It took me a long time to feel comfortable with him again, after what happened. The longer I was away from you, the easier it became to forget.

"One night a year or so ago he happened to mention that he'd heard from you. He said that you'd finally got the internship you'd wanted on Delos IV, but you felt sorry to give up your flat near the Academy to go there. I commented innocently that it was indeed a shame, since it was such a lovely place. He looked at me with confusion and asked me how I had ever come to see your flat. I said that I'd dropped you off that night after dinner and had come up because you weren't feeling well, and he seemed to accept it. Not that it was a lie; it just wasn't the whole truth.

"I know now that _that_ was the beginning of the end for him. I think the little things he had never thought to consider began to add up, suspicions were borne, and somehow, he came to know beyond certainty that _I_ was the reason you broke off your engagement to him. He became cold towards me after that night. I forgave him that coldness; after all, if he suspected, I deserved it. Outwardly, however, he seemed just fine in all other respects. He did not neglect his duties, and he remained focused in his command.

"And then came that night. I tried to contact him when he was late for his shift, and there was no response. I went to his quarters and rang the chime again and again… and still nothing. I commanded the door open and stepped in to find him lying on the couch, apparently asleep. I went to shake him awake, when I realized his skin was cold to the touch. He was already dead."

He paused there in his story, and with a nod, walked away out of the morgue. It was as if he could not bear to speak any further in the presence of his friend, even if the husk of him was all that remained. She suspected he thought he was being gracious in allowing them these last moments together, for which she almost began to laugh. A lot of good it did now. She bent and kissed him on his forehead; the clamminess of his skin made the tears well up all over again. "I did love you, Jack," she whispered from low in her throat. "Always know that." Drying her face, she left the morgue.

Jean-Luc continued speaking once she came into the corridor again. "I called for the CMO to inform him of what I had found, even though I knew it was too late. When Greyhorse arrived to take the body away, he discovered that Jack was clutching a data padd. On it were his final words. I didn't even want to admit then that he could have done himself in, but there could be no doubt after seeing the note."

"Can… can _I_ see it?" she managed.

He merely nodded.

In silence, they took the turbolift back up to the lobby, then signaled the _Stargazer_ to beam them from the surface. As they walked down the arching hallways of the ship, Beverly Howard found herself averting her eyes away from any passing crew member, as if there were a chance they knew who she was and what she had done.

Dammit, she told herself again, she was _not_ responsible for this.

They were soon in front of Jack's quarters. Neither took the initiative to open the door, as if they were both reluctant to face Jack's ghost just yet. Finally, steeling himself visibly, he opened it.

The room smelled of him, and it struck Beverly so forcefully that she began to cry without restraint. She sank down to sit on the sofa, her face in her hands. When it dawned on her that this was the very spot he had been found, she wept even harder.

She felt a hand on her shoulder; she knew it was out of duty, and not of real concern. She knew, too, that he had hated her after their night together, and now, he hated her even more for indirectly being the cause of his best friend's death. As her weeping began to subside, Beverly managed to ask for the suicide note, and he left her side to get it for her.

Jean-Luc, my friend: I am at peace. At last. After all of this time, I know why Beverly left me; even if you never told me in so many words, I still know. I cannot change the past, but I find that I cannot live with the knowledge of it, even though I forgive both of you. This resolve has calmed my soul. Be well and give Beverly my love.

Her arms fell to her lap, and she shook her head in disbelief, feeling utterly helpless. The tears still filled her eyes but she didn't have the energy to weep any more.

After many contemplative minutes, she looked to see where Jean-Luc had gone. He was hovering by Jack's desk, looking at the framed pictures there, glancing at the photo of Beverly, holding the one of he, Walker and Jack in his hands. What about Walker? Did he know yet? She didn't ask. She knew Jean-Luc would have already told him.

"I wonder, would things have turned out differently if I had been up front about you and I to him?" Beverly queried in a broken voice.

His voice was disconcertingly resolute. "We can't sit around and second-guess ourselves. What happened was a mistake, and we doomed him from the moment we kissed."

She could hardly believe her ears. At a time like this, after all of these years, he was still trying to get her to say she was sorry for that night! She'd had several relationships in the interim, nothing she ever considered 'serious', and she was also very popular socially… but still she had the occasional lonely evening where she would give in and fantasize about that night, reliving their impassioned lovemaking in her mind. He was without a doubt the most responsive, most sensitive lover she'd ever had. The only thing she was sorry for was that they had only had _one_ night.

"I still do not regret what happened," she stated plainly. "I _am_ sorry that it has resulted in _this_ , but I cannot imagine I could have lived that night any other way."

"There is no getting through to you, is there." It was the first time he had ever sounded this angry to her. "I thought I was over the stage of my life when raging hormones would win out over reason and reality. That night with you should never have happened because I should have restrained myself. I should have looked down the road to see this unavoidable result, and _not_ have focused on base pleasures. My lack of control has destroyed a life."

"You make it sound like you took advantage of me. That is patently untrue." It felt almost blasphemous to speak in such a way in Jack's quarters. "Some things cannot be controlled. The instant attraction between us was one of them."

Sadly, she became aware of the fact that she was speaking of their sexual relationship in the past tense, because for him, it would always ever be in the past. She had realized instantly that she still felt something when she was near him, and had continued to feel for him even though she had refrained from contacting him since that night. Beverly didn't delude herself; she was well aware that a scenario involving him and a level of intimacy she'd once had with him would never come to be, evident from the distant demeanour and posture he'd kept today. She meant nothing to him; she only represented a destructive force in his and Jack's life.

A quiet settled upon the room again, and she sat back into the folds of the sofa, trying to soak in the last of Jack's aura. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and mentally she said her final good-byes here, focusing on him as he was in life, not in death. Trusted friend, kind soul, and forever would he hold a special place within her heart. She hoped he was happier wherever he was now, than he ever was in this plane. He deserved it. It would probably take her a long while to heal from the pain, but at least she had begun on getting the closure she needed.

She looked around and wondered exactly how much time had passed; it was hard to tell aboard a space-faring vessel, since there were no traveling rays of sun across the floor or shadows with paths to be traced. It must have been at least an hour, or at most, two. Jean-Luc was still hovering by the window, as he had been doing since leaving the desk. She watched him stand there, unmoving, and probably unblinking, more like a statue than a human being. Finally, she stood from her place on the sofa, and spoke, breaking the lengthy silence. "I'd better be going. Thank you again, Jean-Luc, for coming here. It meant a lot to me to get to see him one last time, and to say good-bye in my own way." She then headed towards the door.

"Wait."

She looked to him, to see him looking over his shoulder at her, although he hadn't turned at all. "I don't want you to leave thinking that I don't wish us to be friends."

He never ceased to surprise her; her eyebrows just about touched her hairline. "Do you? Frankly, I thought the sight of me made you sick."

He turned to look out the window again. "I don't hate you, and I don't blame you. I blame no one but myself."

"How can you possibly say that?"

He all but whispered, "It was I that said too much."

She was struck dumb by her own stupidity. She hadn't thought to consider his catalytic role in the events leading up to Jack's suicide, and she felt like a fool. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc," she said softly. "But I beg you, don't blame yourself. He would have inevitably found out anyway. No matter when he did, he would have pulled himself up into his shell and not talk to anyone about it. A person hell-bent on destroying himself cannot be stopped."

"I should have—"

"You keep saying that. You 'should have' what? Weren't you the one who barked at me for second-guessing?" She walked nearer to him, and grabbed his shoulder, turning him insistently to her. She saw a bleariness in his eyes which instantly vanished, and in a blinding moment of realization knew that his frigid manner stemmed not from a hatred of her, but rather, a reluctance to give up the façade of emotional control. She fought against tears to speak to him with the force she did. "Have you even mourned for Jack at all? Have you cried one tear?"

Seemingly unaffected, he looked away from her, and back out into space. "You're right. You should be going now."

Tears flooded her eyes as she lost all semblance of control, and she actually shouted at him. "Damn you, did he mean that little to you that you can't even cry for him?"

He turned to her angrily, flames arcing from his eyes and burning straight through to her soul. His lower lip was trembling and his hands were fists at his side. "You bloody well know that isn't true! Jack was _my best friend!_ "

His words hung in the air as his eyes challenged hers. Neither flinched, and suddenly, the room resounded with the silence. That was when the floodgates opened, and the salty wetness streamed down his cheeks. As if embarrassed, he turned back to the window to hide his face from her. Beverly could not just stand by without comforting him, so she stepped closer behind him and placed her hands on his arms. He bent his head down, his face cupped in his hands, and slowly she wove her arms about him in a soothing embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.

Slowly they sank to the ground. She sat elevated on her knees while he sat cross-legged. Still, he did not, would not allow her to see his tears. Beverly did not relinquish her hold on him. She kept one arm around him and cradled his head with the other, stroking him at the temples, murmuring words of solace to him through her own sadness.

For the longest time after they had actually stopped crying, they merely sat on the floor, she holding him in silent consolation. He whispered to her, "Thank you, Beverly," clasping his hands over hers.

"It was the least I could do," she returned.

"You were right; you're always right."

"Well, not always… but I suspected you needed a good cry."

"You were right about that, too… but that's not what I meant."

His hands tightened their grasp momentarily, then released them as he turned to face her. He pushed her long hair away from her face with his fingers and then pulled her close to him, kissing her like she'd only remembered all these years. For a moment or two she responded ardently, but knew in her heart that this was nothing more than a reaction to a shared tragedy.

"No, no," she said quietly. She pulled herself away from him, admittedly with much effort, and walked towards the door. "I really should be going," she managed, turning back to address him.

The look of utter and complete rejection on his face was almost too much for her to bear, but once bitten, twice shy. She could not endure another 'morning after', and was smart enough to know that in the proverbial light of day, he could do nothing but react as he had seven years ago. Their circumstances had not changed that radically to allow her to believe everything could be all right.

He merely sat there in rueful disbelief as the door closed upon the room.


	3. Chapter 3

### 3.

_Stardate: 2364_

"Doctor Howard?"

She looked at this handsome young officer and thought maybe a mustache was all that was missing from his smiling face. No, a beard, too. Definitely a mustache and beard.

He continued speaking through his smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled and thrust her hand forward. He took it and shook vigorously. "Likewise, Commander Riker."

They turned and walked together through the bazaar at Farpoint Station, conversing lightly about nothing important, for the express purpose of sizing each other up. From what little she knew, she already liked him. If she hadn't read his service and personnel records (which were, as they always are, devoid of much personality), she still would have guessed that he was sociable and ambitious. He'd have to be to get the position of first officer on Starfleet's flagship. He also exuded a brand of charm she found oddly refreshing, especially since he seemed to know his boundaries and didn't hit on or ogle every woman that passed him by, herself included. From his ease of posture, she guessed that he liked her at least a little bit.

A flickering gleam caught her eye, and she found herself wandering towards a merchant's table.  It was a beautiful, glimmering bolt of purple fabric. "Hmmm, how lovely this would be with gold in it…" She turned to Riker for an opinion, whose eyes were upon the fabric, but his mind was still following his previous train of thought.

"The _Enterprise_ should be here any— Doctor, look."

She turned back to the fabric, to see delicate vines of gold weaving through it. She furrowed her brow and brought the cloth closer to inspect it. Ultimately she decided she must have just not noticed it. Smiling gleefully to the vendor, she said, handing him her purchase, "I'll take it. Credit it to Doctor Beverly Howard on board the _Enterprise_."

As she walked away with her quarry in her hands, she pondered her new position of Chief Medical Officer on board this new galaxy-class starship, the _Enterprise_. No small change for anyone as young as she was; she knew of doctors with twenty years on her who had been passed up in her favour. Not that she minded; she wanted this position more than anything, had applied for consideration just like everyone else, and celebrated like nobody's business when she found she'd gotten it. 

She'd first heard rumors that the _Enterprise_ was a family ship around the time it was being built at the Utopia Planitia shipyards, and in the ensuing months had kept up on its progress. Yes, indeed it was a ship that would be carrying officers and their families. The fact that she did not have a family of her own made her heart ache just a bit, but she was quick to push back any feelings of regret. She was happy, she was moving briskly upwards in her career, and after all, what better position could she have than working on a colony, a _community_ , that moved around the galaxy? It was the best of both worlds!

She had to wonder if the Head of Starfleet was off of his rocker, though, to give command of a family ship to someone who had such a notorious reputation for disliking the under-18 set, regardless of the fact that he was undoubtedly deserving. It was, after all, about time that Jean-Luc Picard had the helm of the flagship. Beverly had tried not to think about it too much; that is, seeing Jean-Luc again after all this time, because it made her stomach flutter. She wondered what he thought of her assignment to the ship, if he had any opinion at all. It had been nearly—well, it must have been close to ten years since she had seen him last. The concept of not seeing someone for that long struck her as terribly sad. She hadn't intended to avoid him, but their respective careers had taken off, and neither had the time to make an effort. At the very least, this served as a convenient excuse. She sincerely hoped he would be pleased to see her, hoped there wouldn't be any hard feelings.

She thought again of what she carried in her hands. If this mystically changing cloth was any indication of the days to come on board this ship, well, it would be an interesting tour, if nothing else. Hopefully a friendship could bloom, or at least a working understanding could be reached, between Beverly and her commanding officer.

She then realized that Riker was speaking to her.

"I'm sorry, you were saying, Commander?"

"I just received word that the ship will be delayed a bit—or I should say, the stardrive section will be delayed."

Beverly furrowed her brow. Interesting indeed.

She and Riker were in the middle of having dinner that night on the promenade at Farpoint when the saucer section finally arrived and took up orbit. As they shimmered into being on the transporter pad, they were met by a human woman with blonde hair and a severe expression on her face, her hands folded behind her back. They stepped down and she began to speak.

"Commander, Doctor, welcome aboard the _Enterprise_. I'm terribly sorry that the captain couldn't be here to meet you himself, but we've been having something of a dilemma." She paused long enough to take a quick breath. "I'm the Chief of Security, Natasha Yar. It's a pleasure to meet you both." Another breath. "Commander, if you'd come with me, the captain would like me to brief you before the stardrive section arrives. Doctor," she said in parting, acknowledging her again, as the pair of them shot off to what presumably was the bridge. Professional and to the point. She liked Yar already. Secretly, Beverly was happy that meeting Jean-Luc again did not occur in this awkward venue. She wanted to meet with the captain on her own terms, in a place that was less formal and at a time that would be less stressful.

She spent her first couple of hours in sick bay, familiarizing herself with the staff and the environs. Her staff seemed eager and friendly, and she was impressed by how well they knew their way around already. Beverly then went to her quarters; not too shabby. Actually, it was pretty sizable for just one person and suddenly she felt a little guilty… but only for a moment as a grin overtook her face, as she imagined bringing her things on board. Starfleet ships' quarters desperately needed a little personalization, and she looked forward to putting her Celtic-patterned afghans here, her plants there, her framed pictures…

Jack. For the first time in a long time, she thought of him. Of course she would bring aboard her picture of him, the one she had so carefully covered so many years ago. She still missed him, missed the warmth of his smile, his quirky sense of humour. The years had done much to dull the pain, and she knew that thinking of him and remembering the best things about him kept him alive in this world.

"Doctor Howard, please report to the bridge."

That was Jean-Luc's voice; a bit gravely with age and the anxiety of the situation, but it was his. She would know it in a chorus of thousands, that voice. It sent pinpricks up her spine, hearing it again, remembering the two times their paths had crossed. Had it really only been twice? She took a quick look in the mirror, making sure her hair was properly smoothed back into its chignon. Her long mane of vibrant red hair was one little indulgence she couldn't bring herself to shake, even though outside the walls of her rooms she would usually wear her hair pulled back into a knot. She was all too aware of the respect she seemed to command when her hair was kept back, how people were made to instantly forget her relatively young age. As she went to turn away, the light hit the three pips on her collar, catching her eye. She wasn't sure if seeing them made her happy or sad; they reminded her of her advancing career, but they also reminded her of so many years gone by.

Up climbed the turbolift, and with each level that passed by, her heart fluttered even faster. Silly to be this nervous! Did she seriously think she would be able to serve on board a ship without ever encountering her captain?

The turbolift doors opened, and the grand sprawl of the main bridge was there before her. She stepped out unsurely, looking around, wondering where the captain's chair was.  The man at what she assumed to be the tactical position turned upon hearing her footfalls, and he smiled. "Doctor?" he asked. She nodded.

Then Beverly saw the captain rise from his chair on the recessed level below the horseshoe-shaped ramp, and he turned to look at her. Much was said in those silent moments as she looked down to him, and she realized suddenly that their first encounter was as public as she'd hoped it wouldn't be. She wasn't convinced that it was completely by accident.

It seemed almost as if he was surprised to see her. He had asked her to report here, so it must have been that he was simply surprised that she was actually physically here accepting the position. He had aged well; his features were boldly defined, his body sharp as a whip, and his hairline had receded as far as Jack had predicted so many moons ago. She tried desperately not to laugh or even smile at that thought, and she deliberately folded her hands behind her back.

She kept her voice level to the point of coldness, and remained stock still as she addressed him. "Reporting for duty, Captain Picard."

"Welcome aboard, Doctor Howard." He allowed a small smile to pass his lips before continuing, "I'd like to brief you in my ready room."

"Yes, Sir," she said, following him into his private sanctuary.

As the doors whooshed closed behind them, he took his seat and punched up a display on his monitor. Not surprisingly, he was all business. He looked up to see her still standing there, and said, "Please, take a seat," as he turned the display for her to see.

She watched in wonder as the events previous to the ship's arrival at Farpoint unfolded; this curious entity called "Q", being put on trial for all humanity, and the mysterious starbase that they now orbited above. As it finished she looked to him and said, "Thank you for bringing me up to speed. I'll make sure that my staff are briefed in turn."

"You're welcome, Doctor. Dismissed."

She stood from the chair and made for the door, before hearing her first name. Looking back to him, it was as if he'd become a softer, warmer version of the person he was just moments ago. "Yes?" she asked.

As he continued she couldn't decide if his tone was gentle or condescending. "I wanted to let you know that if you wish a transfer, I would not stand in your way."

She looked incredulously at him. "Have I somehow managed to perform in some unsatisfactory manner already?"

"On the contrary," he said to her from his safe position behind his desk, folding his hands together. "However, I would not want you to serve aboard a ship where you might be… made uncomfortable by your commanding officer."

She really had to restrain herself from laughing this time. Calmly, she said, "In case you were not aware, _Captain_ , it was I that asked to be assigned to the _Enterprise_."

He obviously was not aware of that fact, and he looked as embarrassed as he could behind his professional façade. "I am sorry. I hope you don't think that I was not pleased to find you among my senior staff. Your service record had been outstanding and you deserve the position of Chief Medical Officer."

She allowed a smile to come through. "Thank you, Sir."

He stood, and for a moment she wondered if he would speak of their intimacy.

His face was as impassive as stone. "That will be all."

Curt and to the point, as always. She didn't need to ask where she stood. She knew all too well.


	4. Chapter 4

### 4.

_Stardate: 2370_

Well, Beverly knew that it couldn't have lasted forever. Really, it was kind of surprising that her luck had lasted as long as it had, serving aboard the same ship with Jean-Luc Picard for nearly eight years and not once being assigned a solo mission with him. They had become not friends, really, but pleasant acquaintances, who spoke of day to day occurrences, births, deaths, promotions, missions, that sort of thing, but nothing more substantial than that. Yes, small talk was alive and well in the twenty-fourth century, evidenced by the weekly lunch dates that they had, along with the rest of the senior staff, where the conversation between she and he never delved deeper than the success of a new medical procedure or a tactical team drilling in record time. Casual observers might have guessed they were close. In actuality, they rarely spent any time together alone. If ever.

Beverly kept the feelings of love and desire she still had for Jean-Luc well-hidden. She would never do anything to hurt him or make him feel less of a commander, or jeopardize the respect he had of his crew, regardless of the personal pain he had caused her so many years ago. Yes, that was the clincher. So many years ago, so long ago that it seemed like it had happened to someone else in another lifetime, and not to her. Truth be told, she hadn't been unhappy on board the _Enterprise_. A little lonely, perhaps, but not unhappy. Her career was fulfilling enough to overflow into her painfully empty personal life. Now even Walker was gone and had been for some years now. Her life was this ship.

She was lucky enough to count Deanna Troi among her friends; Deanna was probably the only person in the whole universe, save for her neighbours in the apartment building, who knew of the night she'd spent with Jean-Luc Picard. She'd found a soul sister in Deanna Troi—Deanna herself was in the same kind of torch-bearing position Beverly was, in regards to the first officer, William Riker. Deanna commiserated completely, and had a friendly shoulder whenever Beverly needed it, especially after her fleeting romances with Odan and Ronin. Two women, experiencing similar problems with the men they loved. She was beginning to think—

"I am beginning to think," came a voice out of the darkness, "that there is nothing on this planet we can eat."

Reality avalanched down on Beverly as she sat there by the fire, and she sat upright. Silly to let her thoughts get away as they just had, considering the circumstances here on this foreign planet: there had been some kind of mental link established between herself and the man she called her captain. They had been so preoccupied keeping one step ahead of Kes security all during the daylight hours, that it was only now she realized what an utter burden it was to rein her thoughts in. She wasn't sure she liked the concept of having her every thought open for discussion, and tried to focus on the banal, keeping her emotions level.

"Oh…" she mumbled lamely, running her hands up and down her shins, pulling her knees up close to her chest.

"It was ridiculous of me to set down my jacket like I did," he cursed to himself. "You're obviously cold."

"I'll be fine," she replied.

"Don't be foolish. I can literally feel it every time you shiver." He moved towards the center of the circle. "Let me stoke the fire."

Surely he had caught the intermittent stray thought that escaped her admittedly weak mental curtain, as she had 'heard' some of his. He had made an obvious effort since their abduction on this planet not to look her squarely in the eye, but as he sat to her right, his eyes met hers, and the veils of pretense were lifted away. Usually, under his scrutiny as his subordinate, she felt uncomfortable. In this case, she inexplicably did not. As his attention turned to the fire, it became obvious to her that he had achieved the result he had been shooting for.

"Thank you," she said all of a sudden, and realized that she meant many things by it. Something surprising happened as a result: for the first time in a very long time, possibly the first time since she'd come to serve under him, he smiled a heart-felt smile to her. She could actually feel the low bloom in her chest, of his pleasure at hearing these words from her.

"You are most welcome, Doctor," he said.

"I think you should feel perfectly free to call me 'Beverly'. It isn't as if we are strangers." But weren't they strangers? She hardly knew a thing about his personal life, except that he liked Earl Grey tea and cucumber sandwiches for lunch, and of course certain other things about him that he probably hoped she'd forgotten. It made her suddenly sad. She held her hands up to the fire to warm them and caught a glimpse of another smile. The amber glow cast shadows on his face, along the creases of his smile, glinting off of his short grey hair, as he sat there poking at the firewood with a large stick. Regardless of the fact that they were in a situation that put them at great risk, on the run from the Kes, he was so at ease here by the fire that he barely resembled the rigid commander she had grown to know so well on a professional level.

He turned to look at her again. "You know, Doc— er, _Beverly_ , I cannot remember the last time I saw you with your hair down."

She automatically raised a hand to smooth the loose tendrils back against her head. "I don't like to wear it down much. It makes me look impossibly too young to be the CMO."

He laughed lightly; another first in a while, for it was genuine. She could feel it spiraling up from his soul. He poked further at the fire, then added another small piece of wood. "I meant that figuratively."

Another surprise. She laughed back, acknowledging how right he was.

They fell into a contemplative silence. Beverly didn't feel like she needed to say anything; perhaps it was his influence via the mind-link making her feel at ease, but she didn't think so. She had a feeling that after leaving Kesprytt their serving together would take a new direction, that they actually might be closer as friends. Yes, she was sure of it. Beverly's eyes finally settled on the starry sky; the constellations were unfamiliar, but the ambiance was the same. After all of this time, she really would welcome his friendship. She sighed softly, content. Amazing what a little mind link could do.

What was _that_.

She whipped her head around to look at Jean-Luc, who knew his mistake immediately. Not a mistake, really, but a little slip in his mental control, a slip that allowed her to see a flash of memory, a flash of a day at the theater, of herself laughing at something that Helena was saying, of dinner in a cozy restaurant, of looking at a reflection in a mirror. And an emotion that accompanied all of that, one she wasn't prepared to think Jean-Luc Picard would ever associate with that day or that night.

"Jean-Luc," she said gently, "I felt that—don't push it away."

He hung his head. All these years of hiding shot to hell; his body language said more than his words or thoughts ever could.

Her voice was barely existent when she spoke to him. "Why didn't you tell me how you felt about me?" She all but choked out the next words: "That you were in love with me?"

He said nothing.

"Jean-Luc, I'm not going to ignore what I just felt—"

"What was I supposed to do?" he said in a low tone. "After his death, was I supposed to pursue a woman who rejected me when I attempted to show her how I felt? Oh, you made it all too clear to me then…"

If she'd had the energy, she would have torn into him like a drill sergeant. Instead she merely spoke in a voice that was close to inaudible. "I thought you were grasping for support from someone who was in the same emotional place you were. What was I supposed to think your outreach meant? Especially after everything you'd said about our night together being 'improper' and 'I should have had control of my hormones' and all of that other nonsense." She sighed, turning away from him.  "What was I supposed to think," she repeated quietly, wondering how they could proceed with a relationship from there.

He returned his eyes to the fire, saying, "Well, it's all in the past, anyhow." She turned wild eyes to him, was dumbfounded at the emotions coming from within him that actually reaffirmed what he'd just said, and she was about to respond when his eye was caught by something on the periphery of his vision. He rose, squinting his eyes against the darkness beyond the flames, taking a defensive stance, only to recognize the face of his chief of security. "Mr. Worf," he said, exasperated, "what are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you," he replied in a sharp whisper. " _Enterprise_ , three to beam up."

Beverly looked to Jean-Luc as the surroundings changed from the dark planetside fire circle to the harsh blue and pink lights of the transporter room. Selar was there with a medikit, ready for any emergency, and approached Beverly warily before Beverly raised a hand to stop her.

She said, looking to the captain, "I'm fine. We're both fine. Just— just get these implants out," indicating the base of her skull. 

"Please, follow me to sick bay immediately." Selar exited.

Worf left also, presumably to get back to the bridge to prepare for the inevitable heated exchange over this abduction, which most assuredly had been denied vehemently by the xenophobic Kes. The two of them really didn't have any time to waste, getting the implants out; he had important dealings ahead of him with the Kes and the Prytt, to try to get explanations for their abduction, and arrive at a diplomatic solution. Regardless, Picard took a moment to look at her, quickly communicating that he was utterly sorry for reopening the old wound and subjecting her to more pain. She nodded in acknowledgment, but secretly knew that her hopes for a close friendship had just been dashed, and it also meant he never wanted the subject broached again. 

In silence, they left of the transporter room together, headed for sick bay.


	5. Chapter 5

### 5.

_Stardate: 2371_

Beverly swore that she could actually feel the moment that the ship broke the uppermost layer of the atmosphere, had felt the unmistakable pull of inertia in the pit of her stomach. That sensation was nothing compared to the different directions her body was being pulled in now—or at least that was what it felt like. She'd given up trying to stand minutes ago and was now on the floor, between a biobed and a medical cart. Her breath came in great heaves and she clung desperately to the person closest to her, just as they clung to the person closest to them. She wasn't even sure at this point who it was, and didn't care; opening her eyes made them burn. She'd foolishly found that out the hard way. She clenched her jaw shut to keep herself from biting her tongue. She squeezed her eyes together so tightly that tears escaped the corners, and kept her head down to keep her neck from getting sprained. 

After what had been an eternity of rocking, pitching and yawing, all motion stopped.

The light prickled at the back of her eyes as she opened them, subconsciously smoothing her hair back into its loosening bun. "Is everyone all right?" she managed, as heads all over the room lifted warily to survey the scene. One by one she heard an affirmative from each person, and she sighed in relief. 

"What about yourself, Beverly?" queried a serious-looking Ogawa. Beverly looked down to see she had herself sustained a gash to her thigh, and blood was issuing sticky and dark through the fabric of her uniform pants. She could not contain a gasp of surprise. Alyssa wordlessly reached for a medical instrument and Beverly quickly sutured the wound.

That was when the calls started coming in. Injuries on Deck 12. Fatalities on the lower sections. Crewmen trapped in the Jeffries tubes. Snapping to action, Beverly formed medical triage teams with the scant personnel she had, and scattered them to the four winds to get as many people treated as quickly as possible.

It wasn't until the last victim had been tended to an eternity later that she was able to think or have a moment to herself. Not that she particularly wanted to think about what happened; in fact, she walked from group to group, checking on the separate relief efforts, mostly to keep her mind off of the fact that her life as she had known it for close to eight years was over. The ship was destroyed. The way of life she'd become accustomed to was no more.

And then she heard the unquestionable sound of a shuttle.

The wind whipped her hair around her face and into her eyes, as she turned to see a shuttlecraft touch down at the edge of the clearing. Despite her fatigue, she ran to meet it.

A dark-haired human male, probably late 20s to early 30s, came out of the back of the _Brown_. "Lieutenant Barnett of the _Aspire_. You may not be aware of this, but there's a massive rescue mission en route. We're the first on the scene."

She hadn't any idea about a rescue mission, but it did make sense, and nodded, pushing her hair back against the wind. "Chief Medical Officer Beverly Howard of the _Enterprise_." She indicated the massive wreck behind her.

Barnett looked grim. "Status?"

"We have fifteen fatalities, twenty injuries that need more extensive care, hundreds of less serious injuries that have been tended to."

"Everyone accounted for?"

"Yes, except for—"

When she realized who had not been accounted for, she felt as if the wind had been knocked from her chest. Barnett silently questioned her when her face went pale. 

She answered, "Except for the captain." 

"Missing somewhere in the wreckage?"

She shook her head absently. Jean-Luc had not gone down with his ship. That much she'd recalled before the dizzying nose-dive the _Enterprise_ had taken to the planet's surface. "No. He went after Soran. Into the Nexus. Must have succeeded, since we're all around to talk about it now. He's got to be on the surface here somewhere."

She realized before long that Barnett was looking at her like she had begun reciting "Jabberwocky". He took her gently by the upper arm and said reassuringly, "We'll send out a shuttle to look for him. Barnett to—"

"No. I'll take this one and go and look myself." She broke from him and walked towards the shuttle's entrance.

He made a sound that resembled a patronizing sigh, which didn't score any points with Beverly. "Doctor, I can't allow you to do that. You've just suffered a serious trauma."

She turned and fixed her fiery eyes on his, her hands on her hips; it was one of her most intimidating stances, and she knew it. "I have been independently given a clean bill of health by two different staff members, and as the highest ranking medical officer on Captain Picard's ship, I feel it's my duty to make sure he is all right." Irony silently laughed at her as she continued with, "We have been _close_ friends for a long time and I would like to be the one to tell him that his ship has gone down without him. Not to mention, Lieutenant," she concluded with an enigmatic smirk, "that I outrank you and could order you to turn that shuttle over to me."

Barnett stepped aside, returning her smile. She silently thanked him as she passed him for the shuttle.

Within seconds, she was airborne.

And then she realized what a huge planet it was. She wasn't going to be able to find him on a visual search alone.  And given his close proximity to the quantum filament, his comm badge had more than likely been rendered useless. It would have to be a check for life signs. Even though there were no visible signs of any humanoid life on this planet, she wasn't willing to take any chances: "Computer. Scan below for Terran life forms." When she spoke, she realized how immensely broken her voice sounded. She turned to the console and programmed the shuttle to do the broadest sweep it was capable of doing, set the autopilot to orbit appropriately, then sat back into her chair.

A beeping sound woke her from a sleep she wasn't aware she had slipped into. Absent-mindedly she lurched forward and saw what the computer had found: a human.

A dead human.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She gasped, "Computer, give me a visual of the general area." On the console she was shown rugged, arid terrain, with a crosshair placed over the exact coordinates, pointing to the top of a stark, weather-beaten rock that rose up like a tower from the horizon, one among many. She did not ask the computer to show her what it had found at those coordinates. It was something she could not know yet. Jean-Luc's death was not something she wanted to confirm on a viewscreen. This was something she had to see with her own eyes, touch with her own fingers.

The ship descended towards the dusty ground, then touched down, and as the engines quieted to silence, her heart pounded with a mounting force. This was something she never wanted to have to do, and the moment hung with thick foreboding.

She reached and pressed on the console to open the craft, and the dry, hot air whooshed into the interior of the _Brown_. To Beverly it felt like the breath of the Reaper himself. Steeling herself, she stepped towards the entrance, squinted as she looked into the sun, and began to look around the area.

That was when time itself stood still.

There, in the middle of the towering rock formation, she saw a small mound of stones. She walked unsteadily towards it, her legs weak and shaky yet moving of their own accord. The mound was about two meters long and not very wide; clinically speaking, it was just the size of a human body. A glint caught her eye; she looked over and saw a shiny metallic object that sat near one end. She bent to pick it up; she knew at an instant that it was a communicator pin. It was the new design that they had received only two months previously. That was when her knees gave out and she crumbled to the ground. Tears welled in her eyes, and she clutched it to her breast as she sobbed.

_Beverly, you fool!_

Burying her face in her free hand, she could feel the corners of the communicator cutting into her palm, and somehow that comforted her, this last little bit of him to keep with her. There could not have ever been another way for Jean-Luc to go, she realized. For an adventurer like him, this resolution was inevitable. And she knew exactly how it must have happened, could picture it in her mind as if she was watching it take place before her own eyes. Jean-Luc versus the nefarious Soran, and in true form, he succeeded in destroying Soran's device, but not without sacrificing himself for the millions of people on the nearby, populated planet. After burying his foe in the hopes of disguising the body, Soran most assuredly fled the system with the help of one of many accomplices….

His heroism did not serve to console her.

She took a seat beside the hasty grave, and began to cry.

Sooner or later she would have to exhume the body. But she couldn't do it now, not yet. She'd had her time so many years ago, after Jack's death, to make peace with him. She had to do the same here and now, to reflect and remember, to grieve and accept the loss of this man, the one man who had always held her heart.

There were so many things she had never said or done, to express to him how she truly felt, even though he must have known, right? He must have known that her feelings were too strong and true to have diminished over the years. Perhaps he had just assumed she had stopped caring. Or perhaps the problem was that she had forgotten to remind him. She stretched out on the rocky ground, her head and shoulders on the mound, and watched the sun begin its descent. _One last sunset with you, Jean-Luc. One last sunset._

As the top of the sun dipped down beneath the horizon, she sighed, closing her eyes. Now, here in the twilight, she felt a more intense sadness taking her over. Reality came closer and closer, and she knew that she would soon have to leave this serene place, take his body from the ground with her for a proper, honorable service, and inform a crew that had just lost their ship that their captain had died that day too. How would she ever be able to deal such a blow to them? She buried her face in her hands, the despair almost too much for her. 

And then she thought about how Jean-Luc would react, seeing her like this. She sat up straight and wiped the tears away from under her eyes, taking in a deep breath. Professionally, she and the captain had gained respect and trust for each other over the years. He would be highly disappointed to see her questioning her ability. For a moment she actually believed that she could hear his voice, telling her that everything would be all right, that she would somehow find the strength to carry on, because she had always been strong.

"Is that you, Doctor?"

The sound of those words cleanly pierced the air, frightening the breath straight out of her. She turned her head to the source of the sound and at once questioned her doubt of the existence of the spirit world.

She squinted her eyes, sure that she was dreaming. "Jean-Luc?"

He stepped closer to her, tipping his head, surely wondering why she was looking so pale. "Yes, of course. What are _you_ doing here?" His voice rang with genuine surprise, not an ounce of disdain.

"I—went looking for you."

"And you found me." He squatted beside her, reached out his hand—

With his touch, she began to tremble. Unless ghosts regularly took bodily form, Jean-Luc was not dead, after all. Not dead. Not dead.

"I can't believe it," she whispered.

"I'm surprised you didn't find me sooner, with that search shut—"

She cut his words short by flinging her arms about his neck, and pressing her lips desperately to his, tears streaming down her face. The action caught him so off guard that he fell back onto the rocky ground; Beverly landed on top of him with a profound lack of grace. She kissed him more deeply and more passionately than she had ever kissed another person, and it seemed that he was returning her passion fully and equally.

She must have been mistaken, or he must have come to his cursed senses. " _Beverly_!" he managed, when he got a chance to breathe again. 

She knew in her heart that she had overstepped her bounds with this kiss. She had no words to explain what had come over her, other than she was a victim of her emotions. Beverly delicately retreated from her position atop him, murmuring, "I'm very sorry." She turned and faced the shuttle, not wanting to look at him just yet. How was it that he still was able to make her feel like the young twenty-three year old girl she'd been when she'd met him, embarrassed of her actions, doubting her ability to relate to a man such as him? She cleared her throat audibly. 

"What was the meaning of that?" he asked.

"The grave," she explained. "I thought you were buried here."

"I meant the kiss."

She gave him her most piercing gaze. "So did I."

He launched into an explanation, folding his arms across his chest and pacing as if he were delivering a report to Starfleet. And breaking her gaze as quickly as possible. "In the Nexus I found James Kirk, who had been presumed dead during the launch of the _Enterprise-B_. He came back here with me. Soran was killed when we exploded his rocket, but this victory came at the price of Kirk's life. I buried him here; he deserved that much."

His behaviour all but forced her to turn logical and rational, herself. "Where did you go? I mean, why did you leave such a visible vista point?"

"The heat and the sun. It was too much to bear. I headed down hoping to find a cave. Luckily I found a niche (albeit it a rather small one) about four meters down. Once the sun started to set, I climbed back up, hoping that someone had found my comm badge by then."

Even now, with the sun below the horizon, she could feel the heat of the day. She could barely imagine what it was like six or so hours ago. "So you left your communicator behind so you'd be found? Why on the grave?"

He turned and looked around, finally settling his eyes on her again. "You found it on the grave?" She nodded. "I left it on that other stone there. I guess it a passing creature must have decided it wasn't tasty enough."

Beverly sighed. "I still don't understand why the scanners didn't find you."

"It's probably for the same reason my comm badge doesn't work anymore. Or maybe it's the rock's composition. I don't know." 

What he was saying made perfect sense. Beverly turned to look at the shuttle again, in the fading glow of deepening twilight. What was there left to say? He obviously thought nothing of her kiss, had the same reaction to seeing her as he would have had to see anyone else. Not only had her life as she'd known it ended, so had her chances with Jean-Luc. She began to walk towards the shuttle. With a sigh she said, "Come on. We probably should be heading back to the crash site."

"The _what_ ," he asked, with little life in his voice.

Suddenly she felt heartless in her nonchalance.  Slowly she turned to look at him; he looked as if he'd just lost his will to live, and in a way, he had. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, under these circumstances. There was a warp core breach. We were able to separate the saucer section before the star drive section exploded. The saucer section then became impossible to control and we crash-landed on the planet's surface."

He'd become even more ashen. "Did she—did the saucer section fare well?"

Beverly looked grim. "Minimal casualties, all things considered, but—I'm sorry. I'm afraid this was the final mission for _1701-D_."

His voice was cold. "I see."

She watched him change all over. His shoulders sagged, and his eyes dropped to look at the ground. He turned away and folded his hands behind his back, in some last ditch effort to appear strong. Truth be told, she had never seen him emotionally crumble quite like this, not even when Jack Crusher had poisoned himself. She was almost afraid to approach him, as if maybe he blamed her for this devastating news. It wouldn't have been the first time the messenger got shot, figuratively speaking. There came a point, though, when she could take it no longer. "Jean-Luc," she said at last. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

His voice was barely his own when he spoke. "I've lost my family." She felt the dull pain in her heart, his pain, as she remembered the all-too-recent death of his brother and nephew. "I've lost my ship." Gone too was the ship that he had invested so many quality years in at the helm; now, its destruction left his future not uncertain, but unknown, at a time when he needed the security of that life as much as, if not more than, she did. She sighed in commiseration, leaving him to his thoughts.

It was a long while before he actually turned back to look at her, and when he did, she very nearly gasped at what she saw in his eyes. It was that gentle warmth she had seen at the bayside restaurant, the adoration she had seen reflected in the mirror in her bedroom, the tenderness of their lovemaking. There was a resolve about him that startled her. "I'm not about to lose _you_." 

She questioned what he meant by that with her eyes alone.

He replied, "It's exactly what you think it means, Beverly. You know what you felt by the fire that night. I still do feel it. It's what I fought to keep from you, what I've denied to myself, since the night we met."

Nonplused, she said nothing. He took this to mean that she was waiting for an explanation, which was more or less the case.

The look in his eyes said that telling her his true feelings was no flight of fancy. On the contrary, this was perhaps the most sober he had ever been in talking to her. "I knew that night that I loved you, but it scared me. I had no idea how to be a competent captain and a strong leader and at the same time be in a relationship, because I reasoned I would always question my decisions, to opt for the safe route, in some effort to never have my partner feel the pain of my mistakes. It was easiest for me to just suppress the feelings and just continue on the only way I knew how." He paused to take a breath; she could almost feel the flood of pain coming from him.  "When I think of how I made you cry that morning… how I forced myself to give you the impression that I no longer felt how I did there on Kesprytt… I was a coward. I know I was. I should not have shut you out."

She was not sure if she should cry tears of happiness, or punch his lights out. Right now the scales were tipping toward the latter. "Do you mean to say," she asked with a mounting tenseness in her voice, "that we could have spent all of these years _together_?"

Somewhat reluctantly, as if he knew where she was going with her line of questioning, he nodded.

The fire in the pit of her soul exploded into a conflagration. "And I'm supposed to forget _everything_ you said to me the morning after we made love? Forget all of the years of your denial?" She knew this was not the reaction he was expecting, but she didn't care. She'd shut up her inner feelings long enough. "Did you expect I'd fall to my knees, thanking you for _deigning_ to love me in return?" She walked away from him and towards the shuttle, disgusted and angry. Finally, after a few moments of regular breathing, she called to him, "Come on, Captain. You should get some water in you. And besides, they are probably ready to greet you with a hero's welcome back at the site." She tossed a look back to the burial site, and figured the rescue party could come back for it with the proper equipment.

Silently, he followed her into the shuttle, took the copilot's seat. He got a glass of water from the replicator as she prepared for liftoff. As they became airborne, he looked to her.

"So this is it? Is it really too late?"

She remained stoically quiet, concentrating on the task at hand, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He looked as pitiable as anyone she had ever seen.

"Beverly, if I could turn back the clock and do it right from the start, you know that I would in a minute."

Stiffly, she said, "Begging doesn't particularly suit you, Jean-Luc. Just accept that it really is too late."

He sat back in the seat and sighed.

Some minutes later she turned to look at him. He had drifted off into a world of his own, intently watching the horizon, where she noticed they were coming up on the sunset ahead, moving against the rotation of the planet. She smiled to herself, satisfied. Riding off into the sunset seemed so cliché, and yet, here they were. Her anger was well-founded, and completely natural, but seeing past the initial anger, she knew that his love was something she needed in her life still, especially now. She wasn't about to let her pride stand in the way of something she had been wanting for so long.

However, it sure did feel righteous to play the bitch for all it was worth.

"Now you know," she said quietly.

Roused from his reverie, he asked, "What?"

"Now you truly know what I felt that morning after you left." He looked down in shame. She continued, saying, "Only you never came back to say that you were only kidding."

"What? What do you mean by that?" He looked to her, gripping the arms of his chair; desperation had replaced the sadness. His voice was tight and low. "Don't do this to me, Beverly. If it's too late, then it's too late, but don't tease me with false hopes."

She didn't speak.

"Okay, fine, you taught me a lesson—dammit, Beverly! Will you please say something?"

Beverly pressed a button on the console, turned to him with her arms folded across her chest, and looked at him challengingly. "How can I be sure that when we go back to the 'real world' you won't suddenly be lecturing me again on how 'improper' and 'hormonal' this is?"

She could have knocked him over with a feather, if he hadn't already been seated. It was a chance, albeit a slim one, that he clearly thought he'd never get. "I can only give you my word as a gentleman and a scholar. I don't intend to screw this up again."

She smiled softly, stood from her chair, and unfolded her arms, placing one hand on his shoulder. "I guess I'll just have to take your word, then," she said gently.

With that same 'Is this real?' look on his face that he'd shown to her half a lifetime ago, he stood unsurely from his chair, reaching for her; his hands reverently cupped her face, before they moved to her temples. His fingers combed into her hair and found the clasp that held it in its dubious place; he released it, sending her tresses about her shoulders like a blazing mane of silk. Very slowly, he placed his lips to her hairline, and took a deep breath in; she knew she wasn't the cleanest of sorts at this moment after a day such as the one she'd just had, but he didn't seem to mind and in fact, he seemed to relish it. He ran his fingers down the entire length of her hair, nuzzling into her cheek.

"I can't tell you," he began quietly, "how much I have wanted to do that again."

She quieted him with a kiss.

………

The sun was preparing to set now, and it cast an amber glow over the now-peaceful scene, this vignette of destruction seemingly halted in time. It was not something he would not soon forget any time soon, hoped he would never forget, because it was the Day That Everything Changed Forever.  It was tragic, and yet at the same time, exhilarating. The end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

A strange glint of silver caught his eye suddenly—he looked directly at it, squinted, and then gaped his mouth in awe when he realized exactly what it was. He walked, with his eyes still focused on the skies, towards a small group of individuals.

"Do you see that? Is that a shuttlecraft?"

Deanna Troi nodded. "Yes, Will. It's the _Brown_. She's been circling overhead for an hour now. We figure the doctor and the captain will land when they're ready."

Riker looked to the sky again, and smiled.

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> It's funny to read this now and see the parallels to more current works. Stern, stoic man, English accent, with hidden depths; feisty, spirited woman; alternate timelines. Hm.


End file.
